


small comforts

by Lady_Caryatid



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Ficlet, Kind of a non-canonical deleted scene of 'Il Matto', M/M, Sharing a Bed, World War I, no context just emotion i guess, what do u call fanfic of ur own fancomic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 09:49:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21336256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Caryatid/pseuds/Lady_Caryatid
Summary: Germany and Italy share a room in a small mountain inn, and take a break from being enemies for a moment. Germany is, as usual, conflicted.
Relationships: Germany/North Italy (Hetalia)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 50





	small comforts

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Il Matto](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/532282) by Tomatobird. 

> This was written as kind of an expansion of my GerIta fancomic, "Il Matto" which is about Germany and Italy running into each other and having to spend time alone during the Battles of Isonzo in WWI. The comic itself is pretty tight and resolved, but I wrote a little extra scene exploring if they had found a decent place to stay for the night rather than a rainy cabin. It's mostly an excuse to get into Germany's head a bit more too. May add to this, will probably not, but I liked this as a kind of isolated moment enough to post.

"What did she say?" 

Italy shrugged. "As far as I could make out, she says she had one spare room. It's unheated but it should be enough for the next couple days."

Germany still looked hesitant. "What _side_ is she on?" Sporting the wrong uniform could have less than pleasant consequences depending on where you went in these parts.

"She said she's on the side of, quote, 'whoever the fuck leaves her and her business alone'." Said Italy. "She might have said more, but I haven't had to break out my Slovenian in decades, so who knows. Anyways, it's fairly un-crowded, so if anything this is the best time to slip in before anyone asks any questions."

The room was, as promised, small but adequately furnished, with a small, boarded up window through which the night chill could still be felt. 

"She wasn't kidding about the unheated part," said Italy, with all the cheer he could muster, hanging up his outer coat and gingerly sitting on the edge of the bed. 

_The one bed_. 

"It's not that bad. A bit old but fairly stable. What more could someone ask for?" He turned to Germany, who was still standing, awkwardly tall in the low-ceiling room. 

"I still have my kit," he said, "I can camp out on the floor."

"You'll freeze, Lud." 

"I'll be fine." 

"Oh come on, there's room enough for the two of us! When's the last time either of us got to sleep in an _actual_ bed? You'll have plenty of time for hard ground and army cots later." 

"I–" Germany tried to think up a reasoning that didn't sound completely absurd. _He's just trying to be considerate_, he murmured to himself. _That's just how his people are_. 

"We're... in _uniform_. And we're still technically enemies?" 

It sounded even worse aloud than he thought it would. He braced himself for the sound of Italy laughing at him again, but Italy didn't laugh, only looked at him with a slightly hurt expression on his face. 

"Well, yeah, I _know_ that," Italy said. "I just thought that–maybe _now_, at this time, now that we're on our own–" he looked into his hands, curling in his lap. "I thought we were taking a break from all ...that." 

Germany suddenly felt very cold, chilled in a way that couldn't possibly be just from the window draft. 

"Of course, if that's what you _want_–" said Italy, starting to turn away, but Germany stopped him. 

"No, no. It's fine. It's...a good idea." He said. "Thank you for. Trusting me." 

Italy brightened. "Its not just about trust!" He said, laughing a little. "Its the small comforts that keep us sane in a time like this. We can't let an opportunity like this pass us by!"

There was a small washtub in the corner, which they both used to freshen up a bit, and despite the crudeness of the whole setup, Germany couldn't help but feel that Italy had been right about _comforts_. He'd had to keep minimally clean with the regiments of course, as was protocol, but something about silently being able to wash one's self, privately and without the feeling of impending attack at the moment, felt so incredibly _normal_. He thought of his brother fastidiously wiping him down after he'd spent too long playing outside, _you need to look presentable, brother, geez, don't you know who's visiting us? _The memory felt so long ago, and with a mild pang of alarm he realized he hadn't seen his brother, laboring on in the wilds of the Eastern Front, since the war had started. 

The bed was small and musty, and Germany guessed there hadn't been many guests passing through since the battles in the mountains had begun. He thought of the scowl the innkeeper had given him when he entered, and wondered if she _knew_, inherently, who they were, and resented them for the conflicts. People of the countryside, whose families had lived in the same town for generations, tended to recognize them more easily than those in urban centers. _It's not my fault,_ he thought, already defensive against a hypothetical accusation. _I only did what I was supposed to do, I fulfilled my promise to Austria, I– _

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden sensation of Italy's hand resting on his shoulder. 

"You think too much," he heard Italy say softly from behind him. 

"How do you–"

"You're so _tense_." Said Italy. "Just because you represent millions of people doesn't mean you have to carry all of their worries on your shoulders. It's hard enough to bear the stress of being a single person."

"That's easy enough to _say_," said Germany. "Not all of us can be as carefree like you."

"You think I'm carefree?" Italy's voice sounded amused rather than offended. Germany imagined him smiling, his face resting on the thin pillow. "Thanks! I've worked hard at it for a long time." 

"Why do you do it?" Asked Germany. _How do you do it,_ was what he really wanted to ask, but couldn't bring himself to. 

"I guess it's how I try to survive," said Italy. "We find beauty even as the world gets more fucked. There are flowers blooming in the alps, and beautiful girls waiting for us back home. The soldiers raise their voices to these as they go to die." Germany heard him pause and take a sharp breath before continuing. "What do your people sing of?" 

Germany felt an ache in his heart and in his throat at the mention of songs that threatened to spill out of his eyes. He was grateful that he had his back to Italy in case anything so pathetic as _crying_ in front of the _enemy_ happened. He felt Italy wrap his arm around him, presumably to try and soothe. It accomplished the opposite effect, in that it caused a feeling of intense warmth to come over his entire body, making the previously scant blankets feel almost overwhelming. He jolted away from the touch. 

"Oh! I'm–I'm sorry," said Italy. "I just– you're so _tense_, I wanted to help–I thought that you might want—" he stopped suddenly, grasping at words. "I'm sorry. I'll just–_good night._" Germany felt him roll over, listening to his breathing, contemplated responding, but decided not to. They would just sleep like so, back to back, and in the morning they would once again be soldiers and enemies, separated by land, language and culture, just as they had been before this whole adventure began. 


End file.
